Page 55 of Under Pressure

The screen changes again, this time to a sweeping view of the field. I spy a few faces I can place. First, Wes as he makes a throw to Finn on the turf, and then Kellan, the huge guy who Beck said owns the mint Jeep. It isn’t until the camera travels past them and to a slightly raised platform on the far end of the field that I really start paying attention, leaning closer to the TV. The players standing around in there are all new to me. I manage to ignore most of them, but I can’t deny that I’m searching for Beck.

He wasn’t with his friends, and I’m not sure of the rules here. He’s a pitcher, but so is Finn, and he’s out there. I feel like such an idiot for knowing so little about this sport.

My skin prickles when I find him. It’s a fleeting look, not lasting longer than a heartbeat. He was there, standing at the half wall with a Havoc sweatshirt on and a matching cap, grinning atsomething or someone despite the obvious bags beneath his eyes. Then just as quickly, I’m staring at both of the guys at that desk again. I frown, more than a little annoyed as I flick the TV off.

Without giving myself time to backtrack, I send a text that I know he won’t see until after the game ends.

Good luck. See you after.

20

“I keep waitingfor Kordell to make me get my ass up to start throwing,” Kamron says while spitting out a wad of sunflower seeds.

Lounging back on my chair, I kick my legs up and press my feet to the wall in front of us. It’s almost like we’re in a time out. Beneath the bullpen, the other relief pitchers who have even a slim chance of going into the game today and I have been, for lack of a better word, gossiping. For an entire two hours.

It’s almost endearing how badly these guys love hearing themselves talk. They’d never admit to it, though. Not to their wives, husbands, girlfriends. That only makes it more hilarious when I spill the beans for them. My lack of filter keeps them young, I think.

Kamron O’Neill is my usual set-up man, but tonight, I think it’s safe to say neither of us is playing. The Havoc are losing by a score of nine to two, so there’s no use in wasting our arms for a sure loss. We’ll hear all about how frustrated the team is once the ninth finishes, and while I usually love a good ranting session, I’ve got better plans for my night.

“Nah, we’ve got the night off.” I blow a bubble with mygrape-flavoured gum before popping it between my teeth. “Take advantage of it. I won’t be complaining.”

“I get antsy.”

“Want a soother to suck on for the last couple innings, you big fucking baby?” Mateo, a recent pitcher we’ve pulled up from our AAA team a week back, pokes with a gruff laugh.

Kamron flips him off, his fist in my face. “You got that many spares on you, eh?”

“Boys, boys. C’mon.” I tsk.

Mateo narrows his eyes on me. “Oh, shove it, Starboy.”

“I love when you call me that.”

“You fucking would.”

Kamron drops his hand to drape his arms over his spread legs. “You’ve got too much confidence for a young guy. I’ll drive you back down to Seattle myself.”

“When’s the last time you even got behind the wheel? Doesn’t your girlfriend play chauffeur for you?” I chuckle.

The home crowd tonight is quiet. It’s unusual, given how loud they always are, but that’s the thing about getting absolutely whomped. I’d be shocked if half the seats weren’t empty by now.

These are the types of games that I’m grateful to rarely play. While I’ve got an ego big enough to take a lot of damage, I can’t say I love getting booed every time I throw a bad pitch. It’s different than when we’re away. Those boos are music to my fucking ears. They may as well be cheers or chants of my name. At home, nobody wants to disappoint the fans. That’s a feeling that takes a while to shrug off.

Kamron makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “I’ll have you know that she loves driving me around. It’s a good way for us to spend time together.”

“Isthatwhat she said?” Mateo laughs.

“We already know the truth, man. You don’t have to hide it from us,” I tease.

My set-up man gives us both a vicious glare that turns hisbrown eyes a shade darker. “It was one time. And I had an excuse!”

I cock my head. “How much did it cost to get the dent out, by the way? You never did share that with us.”

“For your information, it was free.”

“Flashed your name, did you?” I almost choke on the words, too close to letting a howling laugh escape as his face tightens with annoyance. “Was there an NDA signed, too?”

As big a dude as Kamron is, he’s a total suck, and I’ll never let him forget it. When he came late to a game last month, I expected him to give us some harrowing tale as to why. The last thing I was ready for was his tale of swerving into the gate of a country club on his way to work so he could avoid running over a family of geese that had gathered on the edge of the road, preparing to walk across.